A Side of Coffee With His Morning After
by Mystic25
Summary: There have been many points of view written about Pollo Loco, Max, Ben, Logan, but what about Father Destry? What did he feel, and who was he before that fateful day?


TITLE: "A Side of Coffee with His Morning After"

AUTHOR: Mystic25

Summary: There have been many points of view written about Pollo Loco, Max, Ben, Logan, but what about Father Destry? What did he feel, and who was he before that fateful day?

Rating: PG for language and situations.

Disclaimer: James Cameron is the owner I am the thief. But a girl's gotta make stories at all costs.

Author's note: I wanted to write this partly because I wanted to try another angle of "Pollo Loco" But also I wanted to break some taboo's about religious men. Many seem to think that just because a man is a priest that he isn't human, doesn't have desires, hates, anger, sadness. And that's a lot of crap. Priests devote their lives to God, but they're still people. This is meant to explore Destry as an earthbound man. No intention of mocking was made here.

XXXXXXXXXXX

SECTOR NINE

GOVERNMENT SANCTIONED APARTMENTS NO. 23

(FORMALLY EMERALD CITY CHATEAUS)

7:15 AM

The small shaft of sunlight crept through a pulled roman blind hitting a solitary figure on a bed of white rumpled sheets and matching comforter. The man lay stretched out across the bed one arm draped on the empty side as if waiting for a companion who would return soon.

The sunlight wasn't enough to awaken the figure but the Radio Shack alarm clock soon met that challenge and blared a loud relentless beeping that resonated in his ears and snatched him away from a dreamless sleep.

His eyes opened reluctantly, almost a little boy again not wanting to leave the warmth of his bed for school. Brown eyes scanned the confines of his small but comfortable bedroom and the transformation was made from a sleepy boy of a past childhood to a grown man with responsibilities and a life long goal. He sat up slowly stretching like a Lynx – both arms hooked above his head – and climbed out of the soft mattress in a faded white New York Yankee's T-shirt and black pajama bottoms.

Oak planks made the bedroom floor and today – like all days – it was cold so that he hurried quickly over it to his bathroom. It was only slightly larger then a closet but served its purpose well enough. The sink cut on as he reached for a blue handled toothbrush and squeezed the paste over it to begin his normal morning ritual. The image in the medicine cabinet mirror greeted him as it always did when he brushed his teeth. Soft brown eyes, and brown hair that was just long enough to be tosseled. He never considered himself handsome, long ago realizing that there was more to a person then just their looks. But that didn't stop many women from approaching him and wanting him to show them a good time. But all their advances would always end in embarrassment when he told them the line of work he was in.

He rinsed his mouth out and decided against shaving that morning because he was too tired and might nick himself. Near his hairline a sterile bandage covered a clotting gash, physical evidence of what he had undergone the day before. The light cut off in the bathroom a second later as he shuffled back to his bedroom in bare feet to dress for work. He ignored the memories of the wound because he would rather confess his weaknesses to in church then alone in his bedroom.

He donned the black shirt, pants and matching coat adjusting the white collar in the front – the most important symbol of his dress. The black clothing slipped over his physique easily covering up the form of a former Harvard Swim team member. At 31 he was the youngest member of the clergy at the Sacred Heart. He had been a favorite of the former leader Father Richard McKimson and after Father McKimson had been forced to step down due to declining health he appointed him to take over the congregation.

William Farris Destry accepted of course. Becoming a leader of a Catholic church at his age was a great honor and he knew he had been chosen out of many respectable older members of the churches clergy – most of them well in their fifties and sixties. Though his new role as head priest was not met without some resistance. Some in the congregation – mostly young teenage girls and barely turned women – found Will Destry to be more of an piece of eye candy then a priest. The church leadership considered him a distraction because of it and tried to boot him out. But Destry was relentless and insisted that he should not be punished for something God had given him. And although he would never admit it out loud he found it humorous for those few older leaders to suspect that they would catch the young priest – who took his vows to God and the Blessed Mary – fooling around with some girl in a confessional.

Will Destry grabbed his long gray wool coat slipped it on over his suit. He added next a black and white checkered muffler. It was handmade, a Christmas present from Chloe – a woman with emerald green eyes, piles of auburn curls and coral lips. He had met her in college. She was studying to be a Nutritionist and they had hit it off almost instantly. Science and Religion never bonded before like they did between those two. They dated all through college and were married the day after graduation. A year later Chloe was pregnant. Rumors went around for many months in the church then about how a celibate priest got a woman pregnant, but he ignored it – he was happy. One day when she was in her sixth month they were enjoying a cup of coffee at a café on a rare Saturday when he didn't have counseling session and she didn't have classes for her master's degree.

Two armed men stormed the building ten minutes later, demanding money and shoot the clerk dead when he didn't move fast enough. Destry tried to talk to the men but a metal chair to the back of the head knocked him down. Chloe tried to defend her husband and one of the men shot her twice, once in the neck and once in the chest. She was rushed to the hospital but her blood loss was two great and she died several hours later. Their son was born three months premature by cesarean section after Chloe had been pronounced. The tiny infant hovered on the verge of life and three days after he was born his heart gave out and he died. The shooters were never caught, but were rumored to have overdosed on crystal meth two months later. Will buried his wife and son together in the church's cemetery. The baby's things had been given away to charity and most of Chloe's clothes as well. But he couldn't bear to part with the scarf because she had never knitted anything in her life and had tried so hard to make it look nice.

He thought of this as he passed a candid photo taken at his wedding that was sitting on a bare wood night table. He had gone through a harsh battle with God and religion because of her death, almost giving up the priesthood. But with his family's encouragement he continued to preach. He was glad for the head position at Sacred Heart so he could throw his entire being into his work, to be closer to God –an in a sense draw closer to where he knew his family would be waiting.

He headed down the stairs of his apartment building watching the crumbling bricks just barely hanging on the walls above an eight-foot fence. Graffiti was slashed across the bricks and two young teens were adding new words above an old worn out message:

_Guns Kill people fuckers, and I have a gun!_

The teens ignored Destry as he stepped out onto the street with his briefcase. Some of them even made comments about his white boy image. But a girl – a thin scraggly girl of fourteen wearing a bright orange feather boa tucked like a scarf under a pea coat – let her eyes scope him out.

"Hey white boy! You wanna bang an orange and licorice Popsicle?"

Destry turned to the girl, not to reprimand her, but just to offer her some friendly wisdom that she could understand.

The boys around the girl began to laugh in their hands. "Hey Lakisha, you wanna go hump a priest?" They had seen the white collar peaking out through Destry's coat. "He's got his boys all tied shut girl! But he still could probably teach you a few things."

'Lakisha' looked embarrassed and scowled at her companions. "Man shut up! I might get into heaven this way."

Destry managed a laugh and leaned in slightly closer to the girl so only she could hear him. "You can't get into heaven that way sweetheart. But you might want to teach your friends a few things about your respect."

Lakisha smiled at the words, not expecting them to come out of a Catholic priest. She pulled back to give him a once over again. "You're aiight boo."

"Hey Lakisha let's go this ain't church!" her friends yelled at her.

Destry winked at the girl before continuing down the sidewalk. He was glad for the distraction. Dealing with other people's problems was his job, and he felt it a more valuable use of his time then trying to take pity on his own problems.

He passed many men and women, some in power suits heading to their jobs, others in rags with thin faces seeking money, food, whatever someone was willing to give him. And he couldn't help looking for her face. The image of the woman he had only met days ago. He knew even in this crowd he would be able to spot her because she was strikingly beautiful. But it wasn't he beauty that made seek her out. He wanted to – thank her for saving his life. If it weren't for her intervention he would've been another victim on the list of a serial killer. She had risked her life for his and he hated everything about leaving her there in the woods with a maniac. Feeling helpless like he had with Chloe. He cursed himself for not having the guts to shoot the man when the opportunity was given to him. Chloe begged him to learn self-defense because of Seattle's high crime rate but after two lessons at the shooting range he quit. Taking human life was not what he had been called to God to do. But when his attacker threw him the gun and he held it in his hand his brain worked in autopilot remembering the instructor's words:

"_Load the clip and cock the gun as quickly as you can. You don't have time to waste when someone's trying to hurt you."_

But when Destry aimed the weapon he was terrified. He had never killed anyone before and murder, even in self-defense was an unforgivable sin. No amount of prayer or justification would ever take away killing another human being.

He pushed past the many people who also didn't acknowledge him, busy with their own lives and schedules. Such was the way of the world now. People didn't greet someone they didn't know because doing so came with a danger of being robbed, or raped. The air was cold and his breath blew in a thin cloud above his head. The muffler was beginning to feel too thin to keep out the icy morning winds. But he finally made it through the door of a small coffee and baked goods shop.

The tiny bell above the door chimed his entrance as he shook the feeling of cold off his body. The place was a Mom and Pop organization, one of the few ones left in the city. Underfoot was a black and white checkered lineloium floor. A row of two seated tables lined one side of the wall and the center of floor was taken up by a long glass counter where maroon leather covered diner stools stood erect like solders ready for battle. A blue and pink neon clock above the counter quietly ticked as the five customers in that morning sipped steaming coffee and ate fattening breakfasts of bear claws and glazed cake doughnuts. A few were well-dressed business people and they had their noses stuck in newspapers trying to isolate themselves from having to talk to someone they didn't feel they needed to confront.

Destry set his briefcase down on an empty stool just as a medium build woman with graying brown hair and large square cut glasses emerged from the back storeroom.

"Father, it's so good to see you," her voice was cheerful as she approached the Priest from behind the counter. "I would think that you would be taking time off."

"God doesn't take vacations Mrs. Perkins," Destry reminded sliding into the stool next to the one where his brief case lay.

Mrs. Perkins– who was one of the owners of the café – smiled warmly, but her face held concern for Destry. Word had been spread throughout the city of a serial killer on the loose. Though it had been mostly come from the mills of rumors and gossipers there had been witnesses who saw Father Destry giving a statement to the police while receiving wound care at Metro Medical Center. Mrs. Perkins didn't attend Destry's church but she had many friends there who told her of the horrific sight of someone kidnapping the Priest right out of his confessional.

"God isn't a human being Father," Mrs. Perkins chided in a gentle voice. "When a man gets hurt, the Lord understands that he needs time to recuperate." She sounded very motherly to Destry and in a way she had a right too. It was her café that was robbed three years ago. She had witnessed the entire event crouched down behind the counter, praying for her own life. She had seen the masked men beat Destry with a chair and watched as they shot his wife in cold blood. Destry continued to come to the café regularly, to face his demons she didn't know. But she suspected it was because it was a place he had loved coming with Chloe. They had frequented the café before the robbery and always seemed to find it as some sort of haven in a modern and falling apart world.

Destry absent-mindedly rubbed the bandage across his head. The pain there had subsided with two Tylenol with Codeine an ER doctor had given him at the hospital. His neck was raw from where he had been yanked and grabbed by the man, and his arm was sore, but he had escaped dislocation by divine luck. Overall he had come out of the harrowing ordeal with only minor injuries, or so doctors kept reassuring him. He looked at Mrs. Perkins who was obviously in a mothering mood because she looked about ready to heat him up some chicken soup and hot cocoa. "I can't sit still for that long Mrs. Perkins-" a warm smile crept up on his face. "Besides going one day without your delicious coffee is long enough."

Mrs. Perkins smiled to this. "I'll go pour you a fresh cup right now. Medium right? Two creams one sugar?"

"Yes Ma'am," Destry returned watching the woman smile again and retreat to where she had three glass pots warming coffee on a long hot plate.

Destry checked the clock above his head, realizing that he had gotten started later then he thought and had only twenty minutes to get to his office at the church.

Mrs. Perkins came out with the coffee in a ceramic mug and laid it down in front of him.

"May I have that to go instead Mrs. Perkins?" Destry asked apolitically. "I didn't realize how late it was getting."

"Certainty," Mrs. Perkins agreed with another one of her cheery smiles. She poured the coffee into a Styrofoam cup and added a spill proof lid. "Will that be all Father?"

"As always," Destry returned, paying her for his purchase. He had been ordering coffee from this place since he was still in Seminary School. He had chanced upon it one day after class and it became an addiction, even more so then the coffee he would drink while sitting there.

The ringing of the front door bell chimed again and soft, but steady footsteps echoed across the tile floor.

"Excuse me-" a female voice requested, addressing Mrs. Perkins. "That church at the end of road? Can you tell me if it's open today?"

Destry recognized the voice – womanly, but hard and deep. He turned and saw the form of the young woman with the dark ravine hair and chocolate colored eyes. "Yes it is," he spoke to her watching her eyes shift in recognition as to who he was.

She remained silent, watching him observantly. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Small but eloquent with an age beyond her years looming behind her rich brown eyes. She looked as anxious as an animal backed into a corner, but she made no moves of tensing up or any other nervous gestures. Her body remained stationary, something Destry sensed she must have learned a long time ago to have perfected it so much.

"It's open at eight o'clock dear," Mrs. Perkins broke in. "This is Father Destry, the head Priest of the church."

"We've met before," Destry told Mrs. Perkins softly, still keeping his eyes on the other woman. Her chin tilted up slightly at his words as if what he said struck a chord with her. She seemed ready to ask him something else but her lips remained shut in protest to what her voice wanted to get out.

Destry watched her with the same silence. He was relieved to see no noticeable cuts or marrings on her body, glad that she seemed to come out unscathed from being kicked hard into a concrete wall. But her eyes held something in them. A sadness that he had seen on her before in the church, but amplified triple fold since that day. Logically it could be from fatigue that came from sitting in a pew at Sacred Heart for a full night, and then being attacked. But she didn't seem tired, not physically anyway. She looked emotionally drained behind her strong demur, almost like she would break down but refused to succumb to such a weakness.

All his thoughts of wanting to thank her disappeared from his mind at the strength of her gaze. And something deep within his psyche told him that this was not the question to ask her. She was so young, 19, 20 maybe. Not a child, but young to his standards, but he sensed she was a wise, ancient soul in such a young form. Someone who had endured far more then any one her age should ever have to go through in a lifetime.

"After all these days Miss," Destry started, being polite, but not over bearing. "I'm afraid I still don't know your name."

There was another pause, but she didn't answer his question. "Eight o'clock you said?"

Destry held her gaze, and let the matter slide about her name. He didn't have to know her name to know what he needed to know about her. "Yes."

She seemed satisfied with his answer and turned to leave as quietly as she came. She pushed open the door stepping halfway out into the cold, but then changed her mind and turned her head slowly back to him. "It's Max."

Destry said nothing, but silently acknowledged her name as he watched her leave the café.

Mrs. Perkins watched her leave as well before she looked up to Destry. "Have you found someone Father?"

William Destry turned back to the kindly woman. "No Ma'am. She found me."

Mrs. Perkins understood what Destry was trying to say with those words. The girl was lovely, but she was someone he was trying to help, not fall in love with. "Chloe was a wonderful woman William."

Mrs. Perkins calling Destry by his given name instead of 'Father' let down the invisible wall of religious politeness so much that Destry's face softened as he remembered Chloe. "Yes she was."

'Max' reminded him of Chloe. Physically they had different beauties, but Chloe was the same kind of woman – witty, intelligent, strong. He learned and believed that everything happened for a reason. And meeting Max was defiantly a sign from up above. Not from God, but from Chloe, wanting him to know that he wasn't to blame for the actions of others, and he could still help people even when things were terribly dark.

Destry thanked Mrs. Perkins for the coffee and left down a cold street with hidden dangers to his church tucked amidst a crumbling city.

XXXXXXXX

OUR LADY OF THE SACRED HEART CATHOLIC CHURCH

8:02 AM

William finished his coffee quickly as he left his office. His Parish had cleared his appointments for the day because they figured he would be resting at home. So they were surprised when came through the church doors dressed for work. He had politely warded off attempts by them to go home and was now on his way down to the row of wooden confessionals that sat against a wall of the sanctuary.

He slid the door open to one of them and slipped quietly inside sitting on the wooden bench. He crossed himself and said a silent prayer over the morning's confessions, asking for wisdom in helping lesson the sins of the people that would confess that day. He noticed that he was in the exact same spot where the confessional he had been taken from once stood. The maintenance men of the church had removed the old confessional and simply pushed the remaining ones closer together.

As Destry waited for people to begin to arrive his mind flashed back like a horror movie of being taken from a booth like this just twenty four hours ago. The previous days events had been a roller coaster ending in a torrent of violence and fear. While he was locked in the steel crate of a room he prayed that someone would find him before it was too late. And he prayed not only for himself but also for the man who was to be his killer. Someone so young, who had just that morning confessed to the slayings of innocent people, talking about a faith in the Blessed Lady. He prayed for the young man's soul, that whatever happened to him he would know what the _real_ love and faith of the Virgin was like. He asked Her and God to forgive the man for going astray and doing terrible things for Her appeasement.

When the door had opened Destry was terrified, but willing himself to be ready for what lay ahead. The face of Max was like an angel in the pit of hell. She had tried to help him and was thrown down by his assailant for her attempts. He could hear her screaming at him to run while he was taken.

He had been dragged through the woods by one arm by the man. After a few minutes he was released and told again to run. And William Destry ran as fast as he could through thick under brush and fallen trees. Once they reached a small clearing he was thrown hard on his back and he felt every rotting root system of old trees dig into his spine and legs. He didn't have a chance to recover when a pain – a blinding crushing one– was on his chest. The foot of the man was right over his ribs cutting off his air and with each breath he felt himself loosing it. He stared at the trees and sky above him, listening to the birds singing in the branches. And then he prayed over his own soul, asking God to let him see Chloe and his son after his last breath was gone.

His brain was unable to register much but the crushing pain on his sternum and ribcage, but soon he heard her voice again, talking to the man, asking him to spare his life.

The man called her something then, some kind of pet name. Destry understood in some part of his brain that wasn't clouding up from pain that they knew each other very well – and that she was making the ultimate sacrifice – to hurt someone she loved to save a stranger.

He felt himself freed and picked himself up and ran from the his attacker, but he couldn't bring himself to not turn in longing to aid the woman in escaping. But from his vantage point he could see her engaged in her own battle with that man, and something inside warned him against going back because it was not meant for him to see. He made it out to a city road and was picked up by a Good Samaritan and taken to the hospital.

All the way there he prayed for the woman's safety, that she wouldn't die out there in the forest trying to save him. And after he was released from the ER he stumbled to the back alley of the hospital, fell to his knees and cried hard for the first time since Chloe had been killed.

The door sliding out from the other side of the confessional emitted a soft 'swish' as a figure entered inside. Destry pulled back the small door to reveal the person to him through the mesh of the patterned wooden lacing.

Through the small holes he could see her determined expression stare back into his. Her eyes now almost looked black, but the fact that she was here made his heart jump. But he kept glee hidden and composed himself as the guiding Priest. He was about to bless her before confessional began but her vibrant, sad sounding voice cut him off.

"It's me."

Destry forgot about the strict religious taboo of the ethics of a priest and smiled at her words. Identities weren't supposed to be revealed in confession. That was why there was a wall dividing the Priest and the person undergoing confession. It prevented prejudices from being formed by the Priest. He was only there to act as a mediator and take the sins of the person to God for forgiveness.

"You're not supposed to tell me that." William Destry forgave her for not knowing the ways of Catholicism. He knew how much corage in took her to walk into confession. He felt that this was the very least he owed her.

"Oh-" Her words sounded surprised, but not embarrassed.

He could see her brimming with emotions through the partition. And through her eyes he could see the terrible pain she wanted to have removed from her even if she didn't understand the rules of confession. It was a quiet, earth shattering pain he had only seen once before – in the eyes of his attacker confessing to his killings before he assaulted Destry in confessional.

"So how does this bitch work?"

Destry wasn't fazed by her cursing. Hers was not an easy confession to make and he knew God would forgive her anger because of the circumstances.

He had told her God's forgiveness was limitless, and so was his.

He listened.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

End

I always seemed to picture Destry as a man who loved, not only God, but women – one woman in particular. I also wanted to explore a few things presented in the episode. Like how he knew how to handle a gun pretty well, not as well trained as a soldier, but better then a man who's never fired one. And also what he thought after the attack was over. He was a forgiving man, but that doesn't describe his emotion, and with this I hope I did.

R/R please

Peace.

Mystic


End file.
